The Naming
by Fialleril
Summary: A name is a gift that parents give their children, and all gifts have meaning. An Organa and Lars family fic.


**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to George. I just enjoy exploring his minor characters.

* * *

**The Naming**

_i. Leia Organa_

Breha had never met Padmé Amidala. This was the first thought that occurred to her when Bail told her of the Senator's death, and it continued to haunt her as she waited on the balcony for Bail to return with their child. The daughter they had longed and prayed and finally given up all hope for.

She wondered what it meant, that their dream had come at the cost of another's life.

Bail had told her their daughter's name was Leia. They hadn't discussed her surname, but perhaps they hadn't needed to. Breha knew what had happened on Mustafar and Polis Massa. Naberrie would not be a safe name for the new Princess of Alderaan to bear, and Skywalker would only be worse.

A very small part of her, one that she had not entirely acknowledged, was almost glad this was so. She wondered if that made her a horrible person, or simply human. But she wanted her daughter to bear her name.

Her thoughts were cut short by the roar of engines below. It took all of her self-control not to rise and run to the landing pad, take Bail in her arms and assure herself that he was _alive_, their new daughter was real, and the world was not ending.

But the Empire was still young, still feeling out the limits of its power, and Breha had studied enough history to know that this was a most dangerous time. Anyone or anything that lacked the appearance of absolute loyalty would be suspect. Bail had already dallied too much with outspokenness in the public eye, and done far more deadly things in secret. Thank the Mother, he was _alive_, but any show of fear or anxiousness on her part would only demonstrate that she had some reason to fear. And there was no way of knowing who might be watching.

So she held herself restrained, poised, like the perfect statue of the beautiful, obedient Queen that she would have to play, at least in public, for the foreseeable future. Padmé Amidala was dead, and a Queen who spoke too much in this brave new world would not long remain to lead her people or raise her daughter.

She watched motionless as Bail approached with their daughter in his arms. He met her eyes, silently questioning, and she smiled at him, a warm, joyous smile with just a glimpse of the secret to it. She saw the understanding in his eyes, the warm light of sadness that said he had reached the same conclusions she had.

And so they greeted one another as two people who had simply been apart for a few days, and not as a wife and husband who had witnessed the death of a galactic government and nearly lost one another in the chaos that followed.

They greeted each other like good citizens of the Empire who had no reason for fear.

Bail placed their daughter in her arms, then sat beside her as she looked down into the girl's face. She felt his arm about her shoulders and smiled, but she did not look away from the child that finally lay, sleeping quietly, in her arms. After so long.

Leia Organa. She was a beautiful child, the most beautiful thing Breha had ever seen. Maybe someday she would be free. She and Bail would both work for that, she knew, but they would do so quietly, from the shadows, and outwardly they would be the compliant Queen and the loyal Imperial Senator.

It was not Padmé Amidala's way, perhaps, but Amidala was dead, and Breha did not have the luxury of imitating her fearless outspokenness. The Empire had taken Leia's first mother before she even knew her. Breha vowed that they would not take her.

_ii. Luke Skywalker_

Beru and Owen had not talked about children in almost a year.

In those first few months of understanding, they had seen nearly every healer in Mos Espa, and even a few in Mos Eisley. All the healers said the same thing. Perhaps, if they could go off-world… But they had already spent too much on the Tatooine healers, who could do nothing for Owen. They had nothing left for a journey off-world, let alone for any specialist healer they might find out there.

Owen had grown gruffer and quieter over the last year. When they did speak, the topics were mundane—the harvest, the movements of Jawas and Tuskens in the desert, the doings of the local troublemakers in Anchorhead. Occasionally he still took her into town on his swoop bike and treated them both to a slow dinner at the little place in back of Tosche Station. But those nights were much rarer than they used to be.

Beru knew he loved her. But she also knew that Owen blamed himself. She saw it in his eyes every time they visited the Darklighters and their new son, or ran across the Loneozners with little Laze in tow in Anchorhead. Beru didn't blame Owen, and he knew that, but somehow she thought that only made things worse.

He had always dreamed of being a father.

They hadn't expected to be contacted by the Jedi. Anakin had swept so suddenly in and out of their lives, and his mother had seemed to be the only thing tying him to Tatooine. They'd all known, as they watched the silver ship disappear into the sky with a final flash of light, that he would never come back. He hadn't written or commed, either, but none of them had been surprised. Shmi had been family to all of them—Anakin, Cliegg, Owen, Beru herself—but once she was gone, there was nothing left to bind them all together.

Sometimes Beru thought that was the greatest tragedy of her death. Shmi had been like a mother to her, as well, and Beru had come to see the binding force she exerted on their family as somehow analogous to the force that bound the whole galaxy together. It wasn't logical, perhaps, and yet she wasn't surprised when, only days after Shmi's death, news of a galaxy-wide war reached even remote Tatooine. And now there was talk of empire and purges and other things Beru did not fully understand, and a Jedi had commed them to say that he was bringing them a son.

He hadn't asked if they wanted a son. Beru wondered if that was because he knew, or because he simply didn't care, but she didn't suppose it really mattered either way.

They hadn't spoken since Kenobi's glowing hologram flickered out in the darkness of the garage. Owen's hand found hers in the shadows, and she rested her head against his shoulder and wondered what it all meant.

This was Anakin's son. Kenobi hadn't said who his mother was, but Beru thought she knew. She'd met Padmé only briefly, and what she remembered most was the other woman's dignity and quietly concealed worry, for Anakin, for Shmi, and for something else larger than both of them that Beru could only guess at. And she remembered the slow but sure way Padmé had peeled the ansar roots with too steady hands.

Kenobi had said the boy's name was Luke, and that they should call him Lars. Skywalker was a dangerous name to bear anywhere in the galaxy now, even on Tatooine—perhaps especially on Tatooine. Beru didn't remember Padmé's surname, didn't think she had ever known it, but she guessed it was probably a dangerous name, too.

"The Jedi should be here soon," Owen said softly in the dark, squeezing her hand as he stood. "I suppose we should go out and meet him."

Beru nodded, though she wasn't sure Owen could see her clearly enough to notice. It didn't matter. He would know anyway. She smiled at him and took his hand again, and together they walked out of the darkened garage and into the light of the setting suns.

"Our son's name is Luke," she said slowly, whether to herself or to Owen, she didn't know.

"Yes," Owen said beside her. "Luke Skywalker."

Beru looked at him in the soft gilded light and saw how much it cost him, but saw too why he was willing to pay the price. The Jedi had taken Anakin, but they would not be allowed to order everything.

And Shmi Skywalker's grandson should bear her name.

Beru smiled. There was no need to say anything else. She kissed Owen, and they both turned away from the suns to watch the approaching figure of the cloaked man on his eopie. The man stopped and dismounted, a bundle held protectively in his arms.

Owen would not want to speak to the Jedi. Beru gave him a small smile that said she understood, and stepped forward alone to meet their new son.

The Jedi handed Luke to her carefully, and she watched as a weight fell from his shoulders. He nodded to her, grateful, then turned and walked wordlessly away into the desert.

When the Jedi was gone, Owen came to stand beside her, looking down at their son resting in her arms. She followed his gaze, watched Owen's careful, hesitant hand thumb the edges of the blankets, and knew that everything would be all right. They would be all right.

Luke Skywalker had his grandmother's chin.

Owen raised his eyes to hers and smiled, and together they turned to watch the setting suns.


End file.
